Northern Lights
by Elisabeth Hill
Summary: Cedric Diggory is starting to wish he hadn't woken up at all. A Potter fan's take on the Cedward conspiracy.
1. Chapter 1

AN: I know. I'm sorry. I've got to stop taking crackfic seriously.

* * *

So much pain. Like molten metal poured into his bones, like a river of ice aflame, absolute zero, so cold it _burns_. Like the blood freezing in his veins, like being stabbed by white-hot needles.

_a flash of green light_

He didn't think death would hurt this much.

_green light_

When he can think at all.

_green light_

* * *

He's vaguely aware of time having passed, the awareness turning up as a mysterious blank in his memory, a dark space outlined by brilliant red chrysanthemum blooms of pain fireworking across the insides of his eyelids.

"_Harry, take my body back"_

A curious feeling of…_duality_, of being neither here nor there but both at once. And all the time, the pain, invading every particle of his body and driving rational thought all but completely from his mind.

"_Take my body back to my parents"_

Something tells him he should be worried, but he's too busy trying not to go insane from the pressure mounting inside his skull as the pain builds. And insanity is quickly becoming an appealing option. It hurts too much to think straight; even these last two thoughts have taken too much out of him, and his thoughts spill jumbled and senseless through the hole left in their wake.

_wind on his face air below swoop catch crowd roar shriek golden weight lungs sear suspended _

Weight

crushing weight on his lungs, like fathoms of water pressing down on him

_the lake _

_biting cold breath so slow no air charm won't last so cold can't feel toes_

He can't, he realizes. They don't hurt anymore.

_glitter of candlelight on ice an ice-blue world smile smile glitter of sequins hand on his arm lips on his lips dark eyes and white smile_

oh god Cho

He's dimly aware of someone screaming, a soul-wrenching uncontrollable shriek that goes on and on until the voice gutters out. He draws in a ragged breath and discovers the scream is coming from his own throat. And the pain pounces on him, tearing his poor vulnerable thoughts to shreds with dark and bloody claws and teeth, slashing through his consciousness.

Without any real option, he lets himself slip back, to float on a tide of fire with only fragmented memories for company and one half-formed hope as a feeble liferaft.

_one way or another, it'll all be over soon_

* * *

It's nighttime in the graveyard.

Tendrils of mist slither stealthily between gravestones, slip lovingly around his arms and legs, freezing the flesh into dull numbness where they touch. The grass beneath him is damp, the earth below it soft and malleable, keeping the shape of his footprints when he steps away. The scene is lit eerily by moonlight, diffused through the mist into a ghostly glimmer, and by the bluish glow of the Triwizard Cup lying discarded on the grass like a corpse _now where did that thought come from_

So the Cup was a Portkey. How about that.

He tries to ignore the weight of dread coiling in the pit of his stomach, but it hisses and squirms until it captures his attention. He's been here before, hasn't he? And it…well, he can't quite remember, but something happened. Something bad.

Something awful.

But last time, Harry was here, and now, there's no sign of him. There's no sign of anyone. He is entirely alone in the graveyard.

The dread coiled in his stomach flicks him with its tail, just enough to make him jump and whirl round, then coils itself and leaps up his throat to strangle him.

Eyes gleam redly in the blue darkness.

A few words in a high, cold voice, a flash of green light –


	2. Chapter 2

Cedric Diggory wakes up and gasps for air, breathing a long sigh of relief when his lungs inflate easily. He has a vague memory of immense pressure on his chest, of not being able to breathe.

_A dream._

No. Not quite.

The bed is unfamiliar, a wrought-iron four-poster with black linens, something Cedric has never owned and doesn't really have any desire to. The room, lit as it is by the watery dregs of sunlight, is not his either. Clouds pour by outside the spacious windows; the sky is completely concealed by a soft blue-grey blanket. Blank white walls look disdainfully down at him, the occasional framed photo or painting showing about as much personality as a school uniform. Still photographs, too, the inhabitants frozen in awkward positions. So. A Muggle house, probably a guest room.

But how did he get here? He'd been – he winces as the memories rush back. He'd had a Killing Curse leveled at him! How could he have survived that? It was impossible.

_Harry Potter did it._

Cedric bites back the thought. Sure, Harry Potter survived a Killing Curse. But he's _Harry Potter_. And Harry Potter has a knack for achieving the impossible. Youngest Hogwarts Seeker in a hundred years, defeated He Who Must Not Be Named in both his first year of life and his first year at Hogwarts, possible heir of Slytherin, and now first underage Triwizard champion since the age rules were put in place… Cedric's heard every rumour, and even a few actual conversations with The Boy Who Lived haven't diminished his almost mythic status. No. Harry Potter might be able to survive a Killing Curse cast by the most powerful Dark wizard ever to live, but there's no way Cedric Diggory could do the same.

Which means…what? That he's dreamt it all?

No. Something else is going on.

His thoughts are interrupted as the door swings open soundlessly and someone steps inside. In the dim light, Cedric finds he can pick out every fold in the man's clothing, every golden hair on his head, every line on his face, a face that is at once angelically beautiful, concerned, and slightly disconcerting.

And oddly familiar. Even though Cedric has no idea who this man is, he's sure he's seen him before, not long ago. And, almost automatically, Cedric's mind throws him back to the graveyard, but he's equally sure that this familiar stranger wasn't there, either. Another mystery.

When the familiar stranger notices that he has Cedric's full attention, he smiles, a smile that is calm and friendly and reassuring and must have been practiced. "Ah, you're up. How are you feeling?"

Cedric takes a moment to consider this. The slow burn that comes after a really enthusiastic Quidditch practice is glowing through him, and the faintest shadow of a headache threatens his eyes, but otherwise he feels good. _Very_ good.

"I'm fine," he answers, and the sound of his own voice startles him. It's raw, as if he's just had a bad cold. Or recently screamed himself hoarse. "A little tired, maybe. Where am I? What happened?"

The familiar stranger gives him another dose of the smile, like medicine, designed to comfort and soothe. Cedric likes it immediately but isn't quite sure he trusts it. "This is my home. You're welcome to stay here with us as long as you like. I hope you'll forgive me for not taking you to the hospital, but considering the nature of your wounds… I thought this way was best."

"Wounds?" That settles it. The graveyard must have been some sort of fevered dream in the haze of pain. The Cup being a Portkey, though; that has to be real, or he'd be in the hospital wing or St. Mungo's right now.

_the nature of your wounds_

That worries him, though. What wounds? And what was so strange about them, that

_How to tell him_

Cedric blinks, and tries to recapture the train of thought that was just derailed. It's no use. "Sorry, what did you say?"

The familiar stranger's face shifts, just slightly. "Pardon me?"

Oh. He was talking to himself. Cedric quickly changes the subject, a little embarrassed to have intruded. "You didn't see a dark-haired boy, about fourteen, in glasses and a red shirt?"

The familiar stranger shakes his head. 'I'm sorry." He obviously thinks this is a bad thing, but Cedric can't help but be relieved. If Harry's not here, he's probably still in the maze and relatively safe from whatever injured Cedric. _Or in that graveyard_, Cedric's treacherous subconscious suggests, but he's sure that's impossible. A Portkey couldn't take two people to two different places.

_How do I say this_

This time Cedric is sure that the man has spoken. "I didn't catch that."

The familiar stranger's brow definitely furrows this time. "I didn't say anything."

_Maybe if you didn't want me to comment, you wouldn't talk to yourself so loudly I can hear you._ Cedric swallows the thought and instead asks, "Who are you?"

The smile again, but it looks a little less reassuring, a little worried. "Dr. Carlisle Cullen. And you are?"

_And I thought it would get easier_

_a beautiful blonde girl thrashes in pain and it takes all of his prodigious strength to hold her still. Her shrieks pierce his sensitive ears_

_blood everywhere. A bear, she said. The boy doesn't have much time left – unless, of course, something is done_

_the first time he saw her, his beautiful wife, shattered like a porcelain doll_

Cedric can do nothing but clutch at his temples, where the headache has migrated to, and stare stupidly into Dr. Cullen's beautiful golden eyes. _Legilimency_. Professor Moody had explained the theory in class (of course, so they'd know what they were up against), and when he'd heard that Cedric was learning about Legilimency, Amos had insisted on giving his son a few practical lessons. According to him, Cedric had an enormous natural talent for reading minds, and even though according to Amos Diggory, Cedric had an enormous natural talent for everything from taxidermy to hog-calling, Cedric had been inclined to believe his father on this particular skill. Legilimency wasn't too difficult for Cedric, but doing it without realizing was new.

_Gold is not a normal colour for eyes, is it_

This gets relegated to the back of Cedric's mind, to be worried about later. "I'm Cedric Diggory. Look, what happened to me?"

Dr. Cullen's expression is unreadable. "I'm not entirely sure how you got here, but you turned up in the woods outside our home about three days ago. When I found you, you were -"

_shattered, like Esme, as if dropped straight from the sky. A path of devastation through the forest; looks as though the boy were flung like a discus by some invisible hand_

"- very badly injured. Still, you had a chance. I would have taken you to the hospital -"

_but some young idiot hasn't noticed that this is their territory, or hasn't cared; hasn't been able to resist the lure of all that hot fresh blood. She's no match for him, but she still possesses the strength of a newborn and puts up a fight that costs him precious seconds. By the time she limps away, letting him return his attention to the boy, he can see it is too late. Her venom has reached the boy's heart_

" – if something else hadn't found you first."

Cedric knows his next line should be "Some_thing_?" It would be if he was a Muggle. But he doesn't question what he's hearing. First, because he is a wizard, after all, and he knows that some things Muggles take for myths only seem that way thanks to concerted effort on the part of the Ministry of Magic. And second, because he _knows_. He's seen it, seen it like he lived it. Which, he supposes, he did. But not from someone else's perspective.

And speaking of the good doctor, a nasty suspicion has begun to writhe just below Cedric's thoughts. He motions for his rescuer to continue, and reaches, as surreptitiously as he can manage, for his wand.

Dr. Cullen pauses momentarily, as if contemplating something too unpleasant to put into words. Finally, he says, "I had two choices. I could – end your pain. Or I could…"

_he doesn't know what's so special about the boy, why he bothered to save him. Oh, he can rationalize it easily. This is their territory; to allow anyone else to hunt here would destroy both their claim and their cover, not to mention shatter the treaty if it came out that he had not stopped the rogue from killing the boy. And the boy deserves to live, like anyone else. But none of these are the reason. The decision to help the boy came first, and these explanations came later._

_As he looks down at the boy, the fair hair plastered down with blood, limbs twisted at odd angles, Alice's words spring to mind. "Someone's coming," she'd said that morning. "Someone…important."_

_Now he begins to regret fighting the rogue off. It might have been she whom Alice meant. And even if she isn't it's still better not to make enemies if he can avoid it. He might even have been able to convert her, if he hadn't attacked her first._

_But, seeing the grimace of pain on that pale face, teeth clenched in an effort not to cry out, he's sure he's made the right decision. And even as the boy finally breaks under the pain, the first scream tearing from the boy's lips, he knows he won't end the boy's life._

_Not now that it's just beginning_

When Dr. Cullen finally finishes his sentence, he sounds more like he's talking to himself than to Cedric. "Or I could let it happen."

Cedric –

_is in a small, dark place, lying on something cold and knobbly. The air smells dank and stagnant and heavy with rot, and he hears the scrabbling of tiny claws in the dark. And he is on fire._

_Fire pours through his limbs, fire eats away his thoughts, fire, he fancies, consumes his very soul. And in desperation he calls on his God, aloud or silently, he cannot tell, calls on a God who must surely have deserted him. Or, perhaps more accurately, who will desert the foul Thing he is slowly and painfully becoming._

_His prayer is horribly informal, and he is shocked to hear himself bargaining with his God so. But he has no strength left for anything more, and the fire is making it hard to think._

_Just take the pain away. Just snatch me from the fires of Hell. I swear to You I will never take a human life. I will never let a drop of blood pass my lips. I'll destroy myself, I swear, just let this nightmare end!_

_And –_

it did.

The thought, or memory, or whatever it was, hits Cedric like a Bludger to the head, knocking him reeling. For a moment, he isn't sure where he is, or even who he is.

The doctor is still talking, as if he hasn't noticed Cedric's distress. Which, Cedric realizes, he probably hasn't. Dr. Cullen is still caught up in his memories, which makes Cedric even more grateful to have escaped them.

"It was an incredibly difficult decision," the doctor says distantly

_As it always is_

'But -" He meets Cedric's eyes again, and Cedric finally finds his voice.

"You're a vampire."


	3. Chapter 3

"You're a vampire."

The golden eyes register surprise for a moment, then Dr. Cullen nods once. "Don't be alarmed -"

"Don't -" Cedric almost laughs. "I'm in a strange house with a _vampire_ and you're telling me not to be _alarmed_? How the hell should I react, then?"

"If you would let me explain -"

"I _have_ been. You haven't explained anything! I don't know where I am, what happened, why I'm here…I don't know anything except that my host is the undead and for some reason has decided to keep me and you want me to be _reasonable_?"

The doctor's concern suddenly seems less sincere, even sinister. Cedric doesn't understand why he's been saved by someone who, as far as he knows, has no interest in him beyond the blood pumping through his body. But he's sure he doesn't want to stay and find out.

_kill the spare_

Cedric leaps out of bed, only wincing a little as his feet hit the floor, and reaches into his back pocket for his wand –

which isn't there.

He casts around wildly, finds the length of dark and extremely magical wood lying on the table beside the bed, snatches it up, and makes a split-second decision. If there was ever a time for unlicensed Apparation, this is it. He shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath, and aims for home.

When he opens his eyes, he's still in the personality-void guest room. Doctor – the _vampire_ hasn't moved from where he's sitting at the foot of the bed, and is looking at Cedric with a look of complete confusion.

_What was that meant to achieve_

Cedric clutches his wand more tightly, and notices that his hands are shaking, ever so slightly. They've touched on vampires in Defense Against the Dark Arts, but Moody had focused more on curses and countercurses than on Dark creatures, and Cedric isn't sure he can escape this without being able to Apparate away.

_He isn't going to take this well_

A small voice in the back of his head, one he recognizes as his own, reminds him that Dr. Cullen hasn't exactly tried to rip out his throat yet, and that maybe Cedric should sit down and listen to what he has to say, but it is all but drowned out in the panicked shouting of his other thoughts.

For some reason, Moody's voice runs in his head, as if he were just sitting in class instead of actually face-to-face with a creature of the night. _"Think, Diggory. You're alone, facing an enraged -"_

He corrects Imaginary Moody, something he'd never dare do to the professor in real life. " –_ helpful, seemingly mild-mannered, but unpredictable vampire. You can't Apparate. You don't know the terrain. No one knows where you are – you can't rely on backup. What do you do?"_

Um…

"_Too late! You're dead. Always be on the offensive if possible. The defensive if not. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"_

What do you do? Well, to start with, Cedric raises his wand and whispers, "Protego." The invisible Shield Charm wouldn't do much to stop a vampire if it was really determined to get in, but just having it in place makes Cedric feel a little braver.

Next, he takes a deep breath. Dr. Cullen hasn't killed him yet, and doesn't seem to be planning to. If Cedric can keep his head, he might still be able to talk his way out of this.

"I'm sorry," he starts, and then stops, not quite sure where the sentence is going. "I don't usually meet – I was a little shocked. I really appreciate your hospitality." _But I'm leaving now._ "But my father will be worried sick." He doesn't know how he'll get home, exactly, but the need to get out of here is speaking louder than logic. "I have to leave."

_NO!_

The panicked, almost…frightened? shout nearly knocks Cedric backwards. But what the doctor says out loud is much more civil. "I'm afraid I can't let you go home just yet."

"Why not?"

"You're still recuperating -"

"From what?" Cedric gestures down at himself. "There's not a scratch on me. I -"

"Just -" Dr. Cullen runs a hand through his hair, and continues, more softly. "Just sit down. I'll tell you everything you need to know."

"How about everything I want to know?" Although, Cedric realizes for the first time, maybe he _doesn't_ want to know.

_green light_

Gripped by a sudden and inexplicable panic, Cedric darts for the door. But before he can reach it, he finds his path blocked by the doctor. And Cedric, acting before he really thinks, aims and shouts, "Stupefy!"

Nothing happens.

As Cedric looks in horror at the wand in his right hand, which is doing a remarkably good impersonation of an entirely unmagical stick, Dr. Cullen tries again to defuse the situation. "I really can't let you -"

_Have to tell him first Esme will act like he's her long-lost son everyone will expect me to have done this already_

" – leave until I tell you -"

_Good God how can he not have realized yet he seemed to catch on quickly when it came to me so why_

" – and I need you to calm down so -"

_The brain is absolutely marvelous what it does to protect itself I'll never understand completely how –_

"Shut _up_!" Cedric screams. He doesn't really mean to, but the double onslaught it too much to take in; he feels as if his brain is trying to escape out his ears.

The first hint of something approaching impatience edges into Dr. Cullen's voice.

_Damn it should have let Jasper come with me this is getting out of hand_

"I don't think you quite understand -"

"I understand enough! You're a _vampire -_"

_So are YOU!_

The clatter of Cedric's wand against the floor is the only sound in the room.

_He definitely heard that_

The doctor at least has the decency to look embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I did mean to break it to you a little more gently."

This time, he doesn't try to stop Cedric when Cedric rushes out of the room.


	4. Chapter 4

_this can't be happening_

The house is bright, airy; hardly what you'd expect from the living quarters of a vampire. Cedric notices that one whole wall is made entirely of glass, looking out over miles of rain-haunted forest. It's beautiful, and Cedric would stop to admire the view, if he wasn't otherwise occupied running through the house at a speed he's beginning to think is a little bit unsafe. He only stops for a moment to wonder why a houseful of vampires would have a kitchen, and whether the dark-haired girl watching him pass by is the "Alice" who Dr. Cullen had mentioned _no he didn't you eavesdropped on his thoughts because you can do that a little too easily now that you're_ shut UP before he's out of the house and weaving between trees, slowing a little with each turn until he's standing completely alone in the middle of an unfamiliar forest, wondering what happens now.

_it can't be true_

Cedric leans against a tree. If he's going to think this through, it's going to take a while, and he might as well be comfortable.

_It can't be true. You'd think I would be the first to know. And I didn't. So it can't._

But…

_No magic._

His thoughts, whirling as they are, seem to be orbiting this one inconvenient fact. _No magic._ None at all. A sudden inability to Apparate can be explained away by the fact that he's still not got his license; he's still not a hundred per cent accurate even on a good day. It's possible that today was just a spectacularly bad day. But when a spell that he knows, knows really well, completely fails to work…

_this really can't be happening_

He shuts his eyes, rubs them as if he can make the whole scene in front of him disappear with enough pressure. The headache has subsided a little, now that he's alone in his head again, but he knows it'll be back, along with the sleet of other people's rough drafts and dirty little secrets. And slowly dawning on him is the fact that, no matter where he goes, he's going to end up back at the house eventually. He doesn't know where he is, where anything else is…hell, this forest could go on for God only knows how long, without anyone around except vampires.

_And me._

If, of course, the previous statement doesn't already apply.

Cedric slides down the tree until he's sitting on a carpet of damp leaves and pine needles, back to the rough bark, and leans his head back. It hits the tree trunk with a dull _thunk_, and Cedric sighs.

_there's got to be some way to know for sure_

Well, sure. He could just hop down to the nearest town and see if being around people makes him want to kill them. That'd do the trick.

He chokes down a laugh. If he starts laughing now it'll probably end in tears. What were the identifying signs of a vampire? It's been too long since Lupin had taught their class. Pale skin, scarlet eyes _and isn't that interesting weren't the doctor's gold_, superhuman abilities, hate sunlight…

Cedric glances up at the heavily-overcast sky. Scratch that one.

He doesn't properly remember the rest of what they learned in sixth year DADA, but he's pretty sure he's got enough to go on. Pale? He examines his wand hand carefully, but without anything to compare to and under this washed-out bluish light it's really impossible to tell. Maybe a little more so than usual, but he couldn't say for sure. Superhuman abilities? If what happened in the house is anything to go by, he's got that one. Scarlet eyes? Unless those superhuman abilities extend farther than he's realized, he's not going to be able to tell unless he can find a mirror.

_Mirror_…now was it true that vampires had no reflections, or was that a Muggle myth? It's no use; he can't remember. And it doesn't matter anyway, since unless he goes back to the house, he's not going to find a mirror in the middle of the forest.

_so now you're seriously considering it, huh_

_NO! I just – I –_

Cedric can't argue with himself though, especially when he knows he's right. He's seriously considering it. Even though the whole idea is obviously ridiculous – _Cedric Diggory, vampire_? That would be like surviving a Killing Curse. It's the sort of thing you'd be amazed how often it doesn't happen to him.

_except today, of course_

"I'm not," Cedric mumbles defiantly at an innocent-looking tree.

_keep telling yourself that_

Cedric hadn't known it was possible for his own thoughts to get on his nerves, but that's exactly what they're doing.

He shuts his eyes, and a long breath escapes his lungs and runs for its life. Right now, Harry Potter is probably celebrating, a good part of his thousand-Galleon Triwizard winnings already spent on Butterbeer and food for the entire Gryffindor house. No – Cedric corrects himself – he's managed to lose three whole days. Right now, everyone will be heading home, the Hogwarts Express carrying them slowly but surely back to parents and siblings and friends and all the people who care about them.

Cedric hugs his knees, notices for the first time that his clothes are in pretty rough shape. His shirt, in particular, is in tatters; one sleeve is off, and a gaping hole is all that remains of the Hogwarts crest that had sat proudly over his heart. Cedric yanks what's left of the shirt over his head, balls it up, and flings it at the tree across from him, which continues to look wooden.

What are his mother and father thinking? What do they think must have happened to him? What have they been told? Are people still looking for him, or have they given up already?

_People have died in the Tournament_

A memory flashes across the surface of Cedric's mind; his father's face as Cedric stepped into the maze, positively glowing with pride. What is Amos doing now, now that his son is gone, now that he's going home alone?

It's suddenly difficult for Cedric to swallow past the lump that has inconveniently appeared in his throat.

And what will his mother do, when his father breaks the news that their son isn't coming back? Will she break down and cry? Will she turn into a robot, like Cedric's grandfather after his grandmother died, walking through the motions of life? Or will she continue to cling to what faint hope there still is, and be killed a little more with each day her son doesn't show up at her door?

_and here I am stuck in this godforsaken forest and –_

Cedric is on his feet almost before he realizes he intends to get up. And before he's really thought clearly about what he's going to do he's lunging at that damn tree just sitting there growing while his mother and father are mourning for their _son_ and for Merlin's sake he can't just _sit_ here and feel _sorry_ for himself –

- and as fist meets tree, instead of the sharp stab of thought-clearing pain he'd expected, there's a dull shock along his arm, a long, drawn-out, painful groan from the tree, and –

- the whole top of the tree breaks slowly away from the point of impact and falls, as if in slow motion, to hit another, taller tree, bounce away, and land with a deafening _crash_ against the forest floor.

Cedric takes a step back.

Before his thoughts have time to stop whirling and form into something vaguely resembling coherency, though, a light breeze ruffles his hair and

_what is THAT_

thought disappears completely.

"Hello? Is somebody there?"

The voice is young and female _and unimportant because the smell is intoxicating and overwhelming and he turns to face the source she's coming toward him and he can't believe the anticipation body tenses ready to spring and his patience runs out she's so slow and he's so hungry breaks into a run_

- and something smashes into him with the unstoppable force of a freight train, lifting him off his feet and carrying him a few metres in the air before he plows into the ground, and winds up pinned by someone who looks remarkably like Viktor Krum.

_ice-blue eyes something's not – _

"_Crucio."_

_NO_

Cedric lashes out, wildly, causing a small explosion of air from his attacker. Sensing an opportunity, he kicks, hard, feels his foot connect with something as unyielding as marble

_Ouch_

and slithers out from his assailant's grip. He pauses for a split second, takes a breath –

_all senses on high prey in close range competition closer fight win MINE_

This time he's prepared for the tackle, but it still comes with crashing force, driving him backwards and knocking the air from his lungs. Cedric dodges another lunge that would definitely have dropped him, and manages two steps in the direction of _that smell oh god have to_ – before his face meets the dirt, the smells of earth and leafmould momentarily breaking whatever spell the scent from the girl has over him. The full weight of his opponent keeps him from getting back up, but doesn't stop him from struggling.

_Stop squirming good grief he's little but he's a fighter and if he doesn't quit wiggling I'll lose him again and she's too close_

"Wh-" Cedric starts to ask, but a hand is clapped over his mouth.

"Shh."

* * *

AN: I'm not the only one who thinks the actor who plays Emmett Cullen looks a lot like the actor who plays Viktor Krum, right? Right?

...I totally am, aren't I.


	5. Chapter 5

The girl's voice again, closer this time. "Hey! Look, this isn't funny. Is that you guys?"

Cedric can hear a heartbeat, and it isn't his own. The girl is _close so close he could reach out and –_

"Stop breathing. It'll help."

Cedric is about to protest – _oh as if it's just that easy_ – before realizing that yes, it _is_ just that easy. He can turn off something so vital to existence as if it was a light, and he doesn't even miss it. It is a relief not to have the scent of the girl driving him absolutely mad _though she's still so close and so alive _but the reason for that relief is almost as terrifying. He shuts his eyes and tries to focus only on wrestling his thoughts back under his control.

There's a soft sound, a footstep, and the girl screams, a breathless girly squeal that can't possibly mean anything serious and yet still sends shivers of anticipation up and down Cedric's spine. "Oh my God, you scared me!"

"Did I?" the second voice is warm and friendly and belongs to Dr. Cullen. "I beg your pardon…Lauren, isn't it? What are you doing out here alone?"

By the sound of her voice, the girl has retreated a little from where Cedric is desperately trying to pretend she doesn't exist. "We were hiking, but I got a rock in my shoe and I stopped to take it out. By the time I got my shoe back on Mike and Jess were gone. And Mike knows the trails, but I don't, and I was totally just following him, so I'm completely lost. What are _you_ doing here?"

"Actually, I live not far from here."

"Really? It's pretty far out of town." Her voice retreats a little further, and the pressure on Cedric's back lessens slightly. "Hey, can I use your phone, then?"

"Not a problem. Just follow me."

"Thanks! You know, Jess totally knows I don't have any idea where we were going. I don't know why she didn't ask Mike to wait for me…" A pause, followed by a gasp. "I'll bet she just wanted to get him alone! That – ooh, I'm not going to talk to her again if she's going to be like this!"

It takes Cedric a moment to realize he isn't the only one who fervently wishes for her to shut up and leave. Thankfully, the next time she speaks, she's walking away from where Cedric is trapped. "Um, I heard some weird noises over there…"

"You might have startled a bear."

"A _bear_?" The girl's footsteps speed up, and Cedric breathes a sigh of relief. That screech nearly punctured his eardrum, even at this distance.

"We've had a few sightings recently."

_Yes, and they were delicious,_ Cedric's attacker/saviour thinks wryly.

"Don't worry," the doctor continues, the sound of his voice fading slightly as he leads the _meal_ girl away. "They usually don't attack humans, unless you surprise them. That's why they say to make a lot of noise while hiking."

Their voices take what seems like an eternity to die away completely, and by that time, the scent that drove Cedric crazy has almost dissipated as well. The weight on his back is suddenly removed, and he scrambles to his feet.

"Sorry about that."

Now that Cedric's rescuer isn't blurred slightly with speed, Cedric can tell he doesn't look much like Krum after all. It's the haircut, combined with the sheer muscle mass, that gives the impression that the two look more alike than is actually the case. Also, the Bulgarian champion didn't have such a heavy American accent. "What was that all about?" Cedric asks, _oh as if you don't already know_ but he somehow manages to step on that annoying little voice.

_Break treaty people'd wonder and you'd never try Carlisle's way_

But what he says out loud is, "We couldn't let you."

Cedric glances at his toes, and notices for the first time that he's not wearing shoes. A few leaves are stuck to his pants, and he brushes them off absently. It seems oddly anticlimactic.

_Why is he not wearing a shirt_

"There was hardly anything left of it," Cedric answers dully, before remembering no answer was actually expected. "Thanks," he adds, as an afterthought. He's aware of mentally skirting the edge of something too big and horrible to contemplate.

_Did he just_ –

"Yes." Cedric runs a hand through his hair and realizes he's going to need a shower very soon. "Apparently I can do that." He looks back at _well he has to be a vampire doesn't he to be able to hold me down like that_.

_Oh, like Alice and Jasper_

His smile is broad and friendly, and he extends a hand to Cedric. "Well, I guess we skipped the introductions. I'm Emmett, Emmett Cullen."

Cedric shakes Emmett's hand a little awkwardly, wondering about the last name. "Cedric Diggory."

_and I'm a vampire._

The giggle sneaks out before Cedric can stop it, and multiplies, until his shoulders are shaking with something halfway between laughter and sobs.

"Are you okay?"

Cedric laughs, gasps for breath, aware that he's almost hysterical. "Fine. Why shouldn't I be? I've only been killed, burnt alive, put through one of the most grueling tests of physical and mental stamina ever devised by man or wizard -" Emmett's eyebrows rise at this last, but he doesn't comment – "been turned into a bloodthirsty monster, and lost my magic – oh, except for being able to conveniently eavesdrop on everything people don't say out loud." Suddenly, it doesn't seem quite as funny anymore. "I just want to go home."

There's sympathy in the _other_ vampire's ambery-golden eyes as he says, "I'm sorry."

_the first thing he sees is a pair of beautiful golden eyes, the colour of sunsets and honey and sun on red-blonde hair. The first thing he hears is the voice of an angel, whispering soothing words in his ear. And the first thing he thinks is that, even if he doesn't really deserve it, all things considered, it's nice to wake up in heaven._

_Then Carlisle comes in, and begins to explain, how there was no choice, how he can't go home now. How nothing can ever be the same again. And, even with Rose there, even with the assurances that he still has a family and a home and a future, there is a moment when he thinks that, all things considered, he would rather have woken up in hell_

Cedric blinks, and something – another memory, also not his – clicks into position. "A bear?"

Emmett appears unperturbed. "Damn thing was sleeping – until I fell on it. Carlisle said he'd never seen so much blood, although I'm pretty sure he was exaggerating."

Cedric latches gladly onto this new topic. Anything to keep from having to think. "Carlisle – is he your…?"

"Father? Not exactly. We're all – uh – 'adopted'."

Well, that explains that.

"Rose and I were lucky – Carlisle found Rose, and she found me. We're not quite sure what happened to Alice, and Jasper doesn't talk about his other 'family'."

"You said they could -" Cedric gestures to his temples.

_he didn't exactly _say_ that_

But Emmett doesn't seem bothered by the slip. "Not quite. They've both got talents, but not the same as yours."

Half a laugh sneaks its way out from between Cedric's lips before he can stop it. _Talents._ He rubs the bridge of his nose – the headache has pounced on him again – and motions for Emmett to continue.

Emmett gives him a look

_is he all right? Shit, can he still smell her? No, or I'd have to be holding him down still_

but when Cedric nods, he goes on. "I don't completely understand it, but Jasper can feel and influence other people's emotions -"

_so that's why the doctor wanted him to help break it to me_

Cedric stamps hard on the thought.

" – and Alice sees bits of possible futures. That's how we knew Lauren was out here; Alice saw what you'd do to her if someone didn't step in."

_what you would do to her_

Cedric swallows a shout as an impression slams into him, leaving him breathless.

_rip tear break wreck blood in tawny hair blood on his face so much blood _blood_ BLOOD_

It feels like something is clawing its way out from inside of him. Cedric can't suppress a gasp. Even the memory/thought/feeling is enough to make him feel he'll completely lose control. The faintest trace. Of the girl's scent, barely noticeable moments ago, are suddenly like the neon sign on the roof of a restaurant, beckoning, tantalizing, and completely impossible to miss. And Cedric, without thinking, follows it.

Emmett doesn't hit him this time, just appears in front of him in one quick motion, surprisingly graceful for someone with so much bulk. It's just enough to bring Cedric back to himself, back from the brink of falling into that insistent driving flame scorching through his veins. Each time he moves, it's worse; each time he stops moving, it's worse, and sheer frustration is fanning the fires. And the scent hanging heavy in the air tugs at him and pulls at him and whispers carnivorous and cannibalistic delights almost loud enough to drown out the echo of thoughts across his mind, and almost loud enough to silence any thoughts of his own.

Almost.

"I know," Emmett says, and to Cedric's surprise he _does_ know. A shadow of Cedric's pain flickers across his thoughts, a memory of someone else's death.

_It's written all over his face_

Cedric forces himself to relax a little. He feels stretched out, drawn taut, quivering on the breaking point where even the slightest touch could cause him to snap.

_Better take him hunting before we go back_

Like, for example, that.

Fear clenches around the general region of Cedric's stomach, an icy fist squeezing too tightly for breath or for concentration. The shiver that rushes through him is completely uncontrollable and not entirely unpleasant.

_oh please yes yes ye-_

"No." It comes out as a whisper, a desperate plea for sanity. "Oh, no." Lose his tenuous grip on what passes for sanity? Finally admit to himself that he's no longer a wizard, no longer even human, possibly no longer Cedric Diggory?

Let go?

_Never._

Emmett looks confused for a moment, before it dawns on him. "It's not what you're thinking -"

_You'll have to sooner or later_

"How would you know what I'm thinking?" Cedric says, hearing his own voice unfamiliar in his ears, another reminder of how things have changed. And on the heels of this realization comes a tide of thoughts he really should have had a few minutes ago. Friendly as he may seem right now, Emmett is a vampire. A cold-blooded monster without any sort of conscience.

_a killer_

Who, no matter how sympathetic and helpful he might be acting right now, is trying to make Cedric –

"I'm nothing like you," Cedric snarls. And, without waiting for a reply, half-hoping he won't get one, he turns and runs, away from Emmett, away from the scent of the girl, away, he wishes, from himself.

* * *

AN: So this has gotten a fair number of hits in the time it's been up, which is awesome. I like to know that somebody's reading the stuff that dribbles out of my brain. However, what I don't know is _why_ you guys are reading. Is this just the most magnificent writing you've ever had the pleasure and good fortune to stumble across? Is the purple prose just so awful that you can't tear your eyes away? Are you a copyright lawyer for JKR or SMeyer taking notes with which to take me to court? Are you, perhaps, JKR or SMeyer, taking notes for the next book? If you don't review, my paranoid fancies tend to run away with me. I won't beg, won't threaten to withhold further chapters, won't promise virtual cookies, but I would like you guys to review and tell me what you think so far. (And the truth, please. If you really are reading this because it's so awful you can't tear your eyes away, tell me what's wrong and I'll try to fix it.)

That said, thanks, and I hope you enjoy. I just bought a copy of _Mirrormask_ today, so there should be new _Forgotten _up sometime in the near future. And Knovaa and Tara's adventure is continuing.


	6. Chapter 6

The forest flashes past at a speed Cedric has never quite been able to achieve on a broomstick. He knows, can hear and see and smell, that Emmett is keeping pace with him, giving Cedric space but not letting him out of his sight.

_why?_

It's frustrating beyond belief. Every last question can be narrowed down to this one all-consuming mystery. Why is he here? Why _him_? Why wasn't he killed when it was still an option? Come to think of it, why didn't he die in the graveyard? Why are these _vampires_ being so _nice_?

Why did they stop him from killing the girl?

The thought gives him pause, and he skids to a halt. Why _did_ they stop him, if they were really the bloodthirsty mindless monsters everyone knew they were, if they just planned to take him – he shivers – _hunting_ anyway?

_I don't know!_

Cedric's eyes sting, but tears refuse to well up.

_I don't understand anything and I want to go home_

Behind him, something rustles, almost inaudibly, and Cedric reaches automatically for his wand. It's not there, and it takes him a second to remember.

_No magic._

Something between a laugh and a sob sneaks past his guard. The thing behind him shifts with a soft sound, almost like a butterfly taking off. Cedric turns, slowly, so as not to startle whatever it is, mental images of bear attacks mingling with his memory of the maze, a spider the size of a double-decker bus rearing gloatingly over him, waiting –

There's a deer, standing perfectly still, watching him. From about a kilometer away. For a moment, they remain motionless, each regarding the other, unsure of what they will do. Then, the deer turns and bounds away, hooves making a dull soft thud every time they strike the damp ground, a sound Cedric really shouldn't be able to hear at this distance.

But he can. And, he realizes, if he concentrates, he can smell it too, musky and gamey and hot and without a second thought, without considering his shadow, Cedric darts off after the deer.

Around him, behind him, throughout the miles of dark forest, the first few drops of rain begin to fall.

* * *

_a steady pulse_

_regular, rhythmic_

_like a heartbeat, ticking off the seconds with a measured thu-thump_

_so close girl must've been farther than he thought doesn't matter she's no more than a memory and right _HERE_ living breathing heartbeat_

It's only later that a flood of rationalizations fill his head, making thick tracks in his guilt and horror the same way the rain is leaving clean tracks in the blood on his hands and face.

_must be alright no one's hurt what do you think venison is_

_no not a monster still me thanks still me_

_not a monster_

Cedric closes his eyes, as if that will erase the carcass lying beside him.

_No. Please._

Tears still refuse to come, and though Cedric feels acutely nauseous just looking at the dead animal, his body seems reluctant to let go of the _wonderful_ blood that _oh Merlin please no_

The horror trickles away, leaving him feeling as grey and hollow as the empty overcast sky. _It was alive. And now it's not._ No more heartbeats; the only sound is the soft patter of raindrops, and the softer sound of footsteps. Cedric's shadow is back. _And I did this. Me. Not a mindless monster. ME._ He can't decide if this is better or worse.

_I would've done this to a human being._

The thought isn't entirely repulsive, and Cedric tries desperately to mentally change the subject. The rain feels good against his skin, like a comforting touch. _Raining_… He could have been on the pitch right now, battling the weather for one extra minute of flight. He could have been curled up in front of a fire in the common room, listening to Chloe complain about her latest essay or someone's Exploding Snap game…well, explode. He would even rather be in class right now – double Potions (which wasn't so bad after all, since they had it with the Ravenclaws), trapped in a dungeon that felt like the air needed to be put through the wringer whenever it rained. Or he could have just been down at the lake, under an umbrella just big enough for two if they squeezed together close – not that either he or Cho minded.

Anywhere but here. Anything but this.

"You could have waited for me," Emmett says lightly.

_Guess he's all right on his own_

Cedric doesn't reply, doesn't trust his voice. And it's not like killing is hard, once you've gone beyond moral scruples.

_a flash of green light_

Can he really do this? Can he really live like this?

Can he even end it now?

The edge of a thought brushes by Cedric, shaking him out of his musings. _He'll be fine once he's done overreacting _and Cedric lashes out, on his feet before he really realizes he means to get up.

"Overreacting? I just _killed_ that!" He's shaking, just slightly, and he's not quite sure if it's from rage or fear.

Emmett looks taken aback for a moment, before replying, "It's okay, it's just a deer -"

"Maybe _that_ is." Cedric jabs a finger at the rapidly-cooling carcass lying beside him. "But how long before it's not deer? How long until it's – it's -"

For a moment, Cedric sees not an animal, but Cho, staring at nothing, lips parted a little in surprise or perhaps anticipation of a kiss that would never come, her silky dark hair spread out around her head on the leafy ground where she lies crumpled. Cedric shuts his eyes in a vain attempt to block the image out, but it hovers against his eyelids like an angry ghost.

Emmett's laugh is loud and sudden and abrasive and Cedric, with strength he didn't know he had, tackles the _other _vampire before Emmett can smother his laughter. The scuffle is brief; Cedric finds his winning and, in his surprise, lets himself be pinned.

"What is so funny?" Cedric demands, twisting in a vain attempt to get free of the larger man's _if you apply the term loosely_ grip. "What is hilarious about me not wanting to hurt people?'

Emmett's smile is a crescent moon across his face. "None of us do."

Cedric, sure he's heard wrong, listens carefully to what Emmett's not saying aloud. He finds nothing to suggest that the statement is anything other than completely sincere. "I – what? Really?"

"It was a little insensitive, but it's just a relief you're not totally obsessed with getting a taste of human blood." The memory of soul-rending, painful desire flickers past Cedric for a moment. "Some newborns are, even when they're not close enough to be tempted. " _This just makes it easier._

"What?" Cedric asks, before remembering. "Makes what easier?'

"For you to try Carlisle's way."

* * *

The house appears out of the forest suddenly, without warning, and Cedric thinks of the castle, rising imposingly from behind the Forbidden Forest. Except that the Forbidden Forest hides nothing so deadly – and yet at the same time so oddly tame – as the Cullens.

As – as himself.

_Vegetarian._

Cedric half-chuckles at the thought. Like everything else today, it's a contradiction; tragic while at the same time absolutely hilarious. A comic tragedy. A vegetarian vampire.

Ridiculous. And yet really, really not.

The glass door swings open with an almost imperceptible hiss of displaced air, bringing with it a faint waft of lemon-scented cleaning products, plaster, paint, and all the other little smells that define _new house_. They're all superseded by something else, though, something sharp and cold and familiar, but which Cedric can't quite put a name to. And, just barely noticeable, the hot and less-than-an-hour-old and _living_ scent that Cedric now recognizes as human.

Which means the other has to be…

_vampires._

The instant Cedric sets foot into the house, a small dark-haired tornado comes flying down the stairs and stops just short of crashing into Cedric. Cedric has barely enough time to recognize her as the dark-haired girl he saw on his way out of the house before she's shouting excitedly, "They're home!"

_Home._ An odd thing to call this house, or so it seems to Cedric. But the girl's not done.

_I'm so glad it was you_

"We're going to be _such_ good friends. Really. The other one and I wouldn't have got along at all so it's a good thing it was you instead."

Emmett gives Cedric a light push in the centre of the back, propelling him out of the doorway and into the…living area? Common room? "Alice, don't exhaust him before he even has time to say hello."

Somehow, Cedric manages a smile, which feels weird and foreign considering the situation. "It's…nice to meet you. I'm Cedric." He leaves the _Diggory_ off this time, feeling a bit like a traitor but not really sure he should be using his father's name anymore. _Dirtying _it.

This Alice doesn't seem to notice his internal conflict, or if she does, she politely doesn't mention it. Instead, she says, "Everyone's been so excited to meet you. Don't just stand there, come in! I won't bite."

It's the lame joke that does it. Cedric trails behind Alice throughout the entirety of the almost preternaturally clean and sophisticated house, wondering at how surreal this whole experience is and managing somehow not to mention his impression that they've just wandered into a photo shoot for _Witch Weekly_ every time they run into another of the house's inhabitants. Cedric had registered, somewhere in the back of his mind, that there's something attractive about these vampires. But it's only now, now that he has a chance to devote his attention to what people look like rather than whether or not they're trying to kill him, that he realizes that no model, even completely made up for a shoot, could look as fascinatingly wonderful as, for example, Rosalie, who must have some Veela somewhere in her family tree. And yet, despite the pristine perfection of this place, someone has obviously put into it the love and care that separates a house from a home. This place is a home. And its inhabitants are a family, as Cedric learns when he officially meets them for the first time. Not your traditional definition of 'family' – in most families, siblings don't date and occasionally marry each other – but a family nonetheless.

And, to his surprise, Cedric is instantly welcomed as part of it. Rosalie seems, if not pleased, then not displeased to meet him, and Cedric is sure that he can convince Jasper to share his passion for Quidditch – if, that is, he can get a broom out to this backwater and then somehow manage to make it fly. And then there's Esme, who, despite the fact that this is the first time they've met, not to mention that Cedric has nearly a foot on her, takes one look at Cedric and pulls him into a hug.

And, for what might be the first time, Cedric considers that staying here might not be a bad way to spend eternity.

* * *

AN: Review?


	7. Chapter 7

"I have to go back."

To Carlisle's credit, he doesn't voice any of the objections that throng to the forefront of his mind. Instead, he asks, "Why?"

Cedric considers laying out the whole sorry tale of what happened in the maze. But that begs the question of why they were there, and who is You-Know-Who, and then Cedric would be trying to explain the whole wizarding world, and that can wait until he has more time. "I…a friend of mine…it was my fault, really, but…" He stops, and tries again. "I have to find out if my friend is all right." _If he's still alive._ "I was the reason we both ended up in…trouble, and I…I ran. And I left him behind." As he says it, Cedric realizes that it's true, and just how awful it is. Harry Potter would be safely snuggled down in his bed at home if Cedric had just taken the damn cup. Instead, the shining hero of the wizarding world might be in mortal peril – or even dead – because Cedric Diggory had to go and be noble.

The thought pulls him up short. Isn't that exactly what he's doing right now? Trying to be noble?

What if it makes things worse?

Cedric can't meet the doctor's eyes, instead examining the bookshelves that line the walls as if they're terribly interesting. Which, as it turns out, they are. Cedric's only been inside the restricted Section of the Hogwarts library twice, doing research for Defence Against the Dark Arts, but these shelves would make that collection of unearthly and ancient tomes cringe in jealousy. Some of these books look as though they've survived at least one war; others, as if they'll speak once opened. And leather-bound first editions rub spines with recent paperbacks, their bright colours looking slightly out of place. The smell of paper, newly printed or crackling with age, of dust and ink and knowledge, fills the room.

"And you think you can make amends by returning?'

Cedric had hoped to have a coherent answer. Really, if Harry Potter is dead, if the Dark Lord has returned, then going back wouldn't make any difference. But Cedric has to know if his stupid Hufflepuff sense of fair play has killed a man, doomed his entire world. If You-Know-Who is really back.

If his father is all right.

"No," he admits. "It won't help. But it would help me."

There's a long, frustrated silence during which Cedric attempts to focus on the décor again, rather than eavesdrop. The stretch of dark wood-paneled wall behind Carlisle's mahogany desk serves as backdrop for a variety of paintings, woodcuts, and photographs from an incredible range of eras. Add a few mysterious and probably magical mechanisms, Cedric realizes, and he could almost be sitting in Dumbledore's office. Somehow, the thought is comforting. Despite his often-mysterious and sometimes downright weird disposition, the Headmaster has a curious way of making it seem like everything will turn out all right.

And in a moment, the full weight of Cedric's homesickness threatens to drown him.

When Carlisle speaks, Cedric starts; he'd half-forgotten that he was having a conversation. Or an argument, to be precise. "It's not that easy. You can't merely pick up your life where you left it. Remember what happened this afternoon? The effect that the faintest whiff of human blood had on you?"

Cedric bites his lower lip. He doesn't need to be reminded.

"Imagine yourself in a city."

Cedric can't quite fit the full horror of this into his brain.

When he manages to speak again, it comes out sounding more whiny than he'd intended. "But it doesn't bother you."

"It's taken me over three hundred years to completely conquer my instincts." Dr. Cullen's voice is soft, his thoughts swirling from a plague hospital to what looks like a medieval sewer to a succession of faces, images that Cedric doesn't try to interpret. It feels disrespectful to even be seeing this, and he wonders if he should start studying the furniture again. "You might be able to manage a brief encounter after only a year, but for you to completely rejoin human society would take much longer than you could explain away to your friends and family. And even if you could…well…"

_the young man standing before him is perfectly still, almost eerily so, without any of the tics or twitches that mark any long period of motionlessness in a human. When he does move, it's almost too fast to follow even for vampiric eyes, and predatorily graceful. He's pale as fresh snow and will surely scintillate in the same way when sunlight strikes him_

which Cedric refuses to believe means what he thinks it means. He must have misinterpreted the thought, somehow. Besides, the image of himself that he's seeing through the doctor's eyes is frightening enough. He hardly recognizes himself. Cedric has always been good-looking – it's earned him something of a reputation in Hufflepuff house – but the angular, brooding young god looking back at him is, while unmistakably him, also both beautiful and terrible. While his face could undoubtedly intimidate, even terrify …well, it could just as easily earn him _Witch Weekly_'s 'Most Charming Smile' award for a year running. And, set in that face like twin accusations, glittering like malignant stars, are scarlet eyes.

Carlisle seems to notice Cedric's distress. "I'm sorry. But that's without your habit of answering questions that haven't been asked, or your new strength, or…" He sighs. "I'm afraid you won't be mistaken for human. Not yet."

Cedric considers protesting that reading minds isn't _that_ unusual in the wizarding world, that people know vampires exist, there's even a registry, but something stops him. If his own reaction is anything to judge by, he won't exactly be welcomed back with open arms. There's no one in the wizarding world who won't recognize him instantly for what he is, or even who he is, for that matter – the Tournament's gotten no end of press, and even though most of it's been centred on Harry Potter (Cedric tries to squash a twinge of jealousy), he's sure the disappearance-presumed-death of a contestant will have drawn a lot of coverage. For that contestant to suddenly turned up sporting brand new fangs – purely in the metaphorical sense, of course – would almost certainly be newsworthy. Cedric shudders to remember his sole interview with Rita Skeeter, and what was actually printed. If she's a good indicator of the _Daily Prophet_ staff, Cedric doesn't doubt that at least one reference will be made to the Dark Lord's non-human armies, and if Potter's been able to spread word of You-Know-Who's return –

_What would it do to my father?_

It would kill Amos Diggory. It would kill him by degrees, to have the son who had always been his pride and joy cut down, made a monster first by a vampire and then by the press. And no matter what Cedric may do, he knows that to the wizarding community, he will at best be nothing more than another Ministry statistic. Another non-wizard part-human.

At worst, to most of them – to his own _father_ – he will be a monster.

Cedric's voice cracks slightly as he says, "I need to think about this."

Carlisle's smile is, as always, kind and understanding. "Of course." _I hope you'll make the right decision._

* * *

AN: Short chapter is short, but done, and hopefully well. Next chapter will appear eventually, and may include angst and interior decorating. I still haven't decided whether or not to throw in a scene devoted entirely to sparkles and Cedric's reaction thereto, though. So if anyone's still reading this, mind dropping me a review and giving your opinion?


	8. Chapter 8

Life without magic is different.

The electricity is fascinating to Cedric, who was brought up by his pureblood family – his mother always said that if she didn't have magic she'd never have time. This is the first time he's ever used, for example, a washer and dryer, and he's amazed at how easy it is. He's always sort of pitied muggles for not having the conveniences that come with household charms.

It's odd how easily Cedric finds himself slipping into this new reality. Without fuss, without too much effort on his part, life with the Cullens has become…_normal_. It's only every so often that he remembers how strange, how unnatural they all are, himself included. It's only so often that homesickness overwhelms him and he escapes into the branches of the forest all around him, trying to get close to the sky, the only place he really feels at home when one of these moods strikes.

The sun and moon chase each other across the sky under thick grey blankets of cloud as the days lengthen, reaching towards summer. At one point Emmett asks if Cedric has always made a habit of sitting in trees and staring at the sky, to which Cedric has to embarrassedly admit that yes, he sort of has. It's after that that Alice starts hounding him to get a hobby.

"Scrapbooking's fun," carries her through a whole day. "You should try scrapbooking." The next day it's knitting, and the day after that it's pottery. Cedric takes to the piano mostly to stop her from trying to get him to try macramé or yoga or whatever she'll think of next. Luckily, he's good at it, another natural talent his father could have been proud of, though music's not exactly something he would've chosen to take up if he hadn't been pressed to it. What he really wants to do is take his broom out and let the wind wash his thoughts away, scorn gravity for a while, try out a few new moves – he thinks he might just be able to pull off an impressive Wronski Feint with his new speed and reflexes – but his beloved Cleansweep Seven is somewhere across an ocean and out of range of a Summoning Charm even if he could still do them, and Cedric doesn't know if he could even make it fly anymore. He's not sure if he wants to find out.

At first, this 'baseball' game seems like a poor substitute. But soon enough Cedric discovers that even without brooms, this muggle sport captures some of the same thrills – especially when you can move so fast and so lightly that it almost feels like flying. Cedric's Seeker background makes him an ideal outfielder, and before the game's over, he's hoping for another thunderstorm soon.

In short, Cedric is fitting right in. And with each passing day his plans to go back become a little more like daydreams.

* * *

The room is unfurnished, save for the new-looking and –smelling black leather couch that appears to have been put there to keep the room from being unfurnished. The east wall is entirely made of glass, from floor to ceiling, but other than that the room is a blank canvas.

Various possibilities are superimposed over it as Alice casts a critical eye over Cedric's new space, considering how best to decorate it. Apparently it would be just too painful for her to let him leave it like this. Although, Cedric must admit he doesn't mind her last idea, pale gold walls and heavy black draperies reminding him slightly of the common room. There's one thing missing from all of the assorted designs, though, and however unnecessary it may actually be, Cedric has to ask. "I don't get a bed?"

Alice looks at him with those big, slightly unearthly butterscotch eyes, and Cedric can't help thinking of Professor Trelawney's bug-eyes behind those fishbowl glasses. They have the same mildly unfocused look, as if they're seeing right through you. "You won't need one," she says calmly, and even though he knows what she really means, Cedric can't keep himself from thinking of coffins.

Alice steps lightly into the room with the fluid motions of a dancer, tugging Jasper along by the hand. He flashes Cedric a sympathetic grin as Alice begins to chatter happily about paint versus paper and complementing Esme's colour scheme for the house.

_She's not always like this, you know. She's just killing time until she can take you shopping for clothes._

Cedric can't suppress a snort of laughter, and Alice gives him a puzzled look. "You don't like stencils?"

"No," Cedric says hastily, wondering what stencils have to do with interior decorating. "Just had a funny thought."

Alice raises an eyebrow in query.

"I wondered how you'd react if I wanted to hang posters."

Now it's Jasper's turn to barely smother a laugh.

Thankfully, Esme chooses this moment to insinuate herself into the room. "Well, what do you think, Cedric? Of course, it's not much, but with a little sprucing up…" Cedric grimaces at her idea of 'sprucing up' – it's even worse than Alice's.

"It's perfect, really," he says quickly, before the decorating conversations can start in earnest. "Thank you. So much. For everything."

Esme laughs. "You hardly have to thank us -"

"No. Really." Cedric glances at his feet. Everything he has right now, from the clothes he's wearing to most of his knowledge about…his new state, is thanks to the kindness of the Cullens. And Cedric feels more than a little guilty about that. As much as he is discovering that he likes Carlisle, Esme, and their little family, as much as he respects and admires their care for human life, there's a part of him that just can't forget _what_ they are, what they're capable of. There's a part of him that is completely disgusted with what he's become, that can't bear to catch sight of his reflection, and that part of him won't let him accept any of this – not himself, and certainly not the Cullens. It's the little part of him that whispers warnings in his father's voice whenever he starts to forget that this is all so far from normal that it's almost coming out the other side. _They're dangerous. Not quite human. Can't really be trusted._

He doesn't deserve them. He doesn't deserve to be so unconditionally accepted, especially by people he himself hasn't accepted yet. He's still waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the mindless bloodthirsty beasts from his father's anecdotes to come out to play. Cedric knows there's at least some truth to this stereotype; as if his father's experiences from working with the Department for the Control of Magical Creatures weren't enough, he can feel it inside of him, ravenous and insatiable and nearly uncontrollable. At times, he feels as though he's dangling over the edge of a precipice by the tips of his fingers – he can't afford to relax, can't afford to lose concentration for even a second, or he will slip. And it's such a long way to fall.

But. Even though they must know how Cedric feels, they've been nothing but kind, understanding, friendly. They've welcomed him like family. And Cedric knows he'll never be able to repay them. The very least he could do is stop thinking of them as Dark creatures and start thinking of them as people. But that's easier said than done.

And with the thought comes a realization. He _can't_ go back. His father –

He won't have anything to go back _to_.

"Alice?"

The pixyish vampire's eyes are unfocused, her jaw slack as she stares into nothing. Neither Esme nor Jasper appears overly concerned, and it takes only the briefest of brushes to learn that this is one of her visions. Cedric, curious, reaches into Alice's thoughts for a glimpse –

_The hall is high, vaulted, its pillars draped with somber black hangings, and filled with the hush of a number of people all choosing to make no sound. Someone coughs, but it only underlines the silence._

_The rows of assembled people are all in black, the ladies in dresses, the men in what appear to be robes of some sort. A few children are present, but for all that they fidget and wiggle they are, on the whole, quiet. In this hushed room, something grave and important is taking place._

_In the front row, a small man with old-fashioned round spectacles is weeping silently. Beside him, a handsome woman with a look of grief too deep for tears grips his hand so tightly that it must hurt him, though he doesn't seem to notice. A few seats down, the solemn visage of a man to whom the descriptor 'venerable' applies is almost invisible behind a knee-length white beard. Before them, at the very front of the room, on a sort of raised dais, is a box, turned expertly out of a dark wood, just long enough to accommodate what lies inside._

"That's my wand," Cedric says, surprised. "And – hang on, that's my mum and dad in the front there. And Cho, and that's my Aunt Fiona, and that's -" Cedric swallows around a sudden lump in his throat. "That's my funeral."

No one speaks for a long moment. Cedric can't stop one thought from swirling around his head. _Dumbledore's going to be at _my_ funeral._ He feels oddly proud and a little embarrassed, exactly the same as when his father boasts about one of Cedric's accomplishments. _That'll be one more thing for Dad to brag about._

"That's really going to happen?" he asks Alice, who hesitates before answering.

_Well, no…and yes._ "It might. It might not. It might happen, but not exactly like that. It all depends on the choices you make."

It isn't her intention, but for Cedric, all the pieces suddenly click into place. His funeral. His wand. Dumbledore.

And Cedric knows what he has to do.

He excuses himself hurriedly, leaving the decorating committee just a little bit confused, and rushes from the room.

* * *

The argument is audible even before the thoughts of either of the participants are. Cedric stops on the stair landing, not really wanting to eavesdrop but not really able to help it, either. He doubts he'd be out of earshot even if he ran all the way into the town, damn these new senses.

"_What_ were you _thinking_? Tell me what's going through your mind right now, because unlike your newest protégé, I can't _read it_!"

"Rosalie." Carlisle sounds tired. "Please don't do this." _Not now. Not while he's barely a week old. Not while he's still settling in. Please._

"Oh, I'm _so_ sorry. So your precious newest son is more important to you than the rest of your family." Rosalie sniffs, managing to make it sound put out rather than hurt. "You don't have to take in every stray who comes to your door!"

"You didn't seem to mind so much when it was Emmett we took in."

"That's _different_," Rosalie says hotly. "And you know it. I chose Emmett."

"And I respected that choice. I simply ask that you will do the same for me."

"It's not that. I just -" _want you to treat me like I'm the age I _am_, rather than the age I _look. "We've only just moved back, only just started to settle in again. To move now wouldn't be fair to any of us. And he's still a newborn, Carlisle." The tone of entreaty in her voice is accompanied by a fierce determination to be heard and understood. "He _can't_ stay here, not so close to town. It's too dangerous. If he snaps – if – what's to say we'd be able to stop him a second time?"

Her words send a chill down Cedric's spine.

A sigh. "Would you send him back to his maker, then? Set him loose somewhere where his kills won't cast suspicion on us?"

"_No!_" The frustrated shout makes Cedric cover his ears. "There are _options._ You do remember Denali, don't you?" _Practically part of our family? The only other 'vegetarians' on this continent?_ "I'm sure they'd be more than happy to teach him." _But you've already decided, haven't you?_ _You've decided he's your responsibility, and nothing's going to change your mind._ "And there's no reason why he couldn't return, later." _Once he's not ripping out people's throats as soon as looking at them._

Much as he dislikes her wording, Cedric knows that Rosalie has a point. He can't imagine that, should people start disappearing or turning up missing vital parts of their anatomy, no one would even be suspicious of the new family who live way out in the woods and keep to themselves. And Cedric can't imagine how awful he'd feel, not only to be the cause of those deaths, but to have betrayed his benefactors like that. And so, even as Carlisle begins to voice his argument to the contrary, Cedric interrupts.

"I'll go."

It speaks volumes about how absorbed Rosalie is in making her point that she's actually surprised by Cedric's arrival. "What?"

"I'll go," Cedric repeats. "These…this Denali coven, they sound like a decent lot, and…I'm a liability here."

_Good to know someone around here has some sense_

Cedric chooses to ignore this.

Carlisle stands. "Rosalie spoke out of anger. You're still welcome to stay as long as you please, so don't feel you have to -"

"I _want_ to," Cedric says softly. "I don't want to be any trouble." Euphemism at its best. He runs a hand through his already messy hair awkwardly, wondering what to say that won't sound ungrateful, unkind, not at all like what he really wants to say. "If I stay…if I hurt someone…" _Kill someone._ "I don't know if I could live with that. And I doubt it'd end well for you. It'd be selfish of me to stay, and - It just wouldn't be fair."

Cedric tries not to listen in on Carlisle's disappointment, Rosalie's not-entirely-selfless satisfaction. He fails miserably. "I still have some loose ends that need to be tied up," he continues. "But afterwards – if you'd still have me around, I mean -" He hasn't felt this vulnerable since he asked Cho Chang to the Yule Ball.

The thought sends a sudden pang through him. He's been avoiding thinking about Cho, hoping somehow that everything will work out. But if he's going to go through with this, then he has to admit it to himself.

He'll never see Cho again. Just like he'll never see his family again. It's what's best for everyone. They have to be able to move on.

It's times like this when Cedric almost wishes he could cry.

* * *

AN: Growing Up Cullen is funny as all hell.

Okay, so, long chapter. I hope you don't mind.


	9. Chapter 9

_One year later_

The Headmaster's office is darkened, the portraits snoring against their frames, when Cedric slips soundlessly through the door. A few mysterious devices spark and jitter as the heavy door shuts behind him with a soft click.

Cedric's only been here a few times, mostly last year, due to his being a prefect. It hasn't changed much in the year he's been away. However, the room that was so inviting in the friendly, warm glow of the torches, is now an eerily lit, haunted darkness in which the snores of headmasters past and the soft whirring of magical instruments sound uncomfortably like the slow breathing of something large, dangerous, and infinitely patient, wondering why such a tasty morsel has willingly wandered into its lair.

Cedric finds that, now that he's back, he feels awkward, out of place. And not just because he snuck onto school grounds while the gate was open to admit the last few stragglers from the Hogwarts Express. The protection on the school is surprisingly strong, security tighter even than during his fifth year, when Dementors patrolled the grounds. If the gate hadn't been open, Cedric knows he'd never have made it in undetected. He's not sure how he'll get out again, either.

The uneasy feeling of being out of place doesn't come solely from the fact that he's in the Headmaster's office without permission or the presence of Dumbledore himself, either, although it does compound the problem. It's one thing to be given the password to a place he isn't technically supposed to be, and quite another to pluck that password from someone's brain. The feeling also isn't due to the muggle clothes Cedric is wearing – he's dressed like this around the castle on weekends and holidays, although never while he was actually in the Headmaster's office.

No. It isn't any of these things. It's simply that he doesn't belong here anymore. Not here, in Dumbledore's office, while the Headmaster is giving a speech at the Welcoming Feast; not here, in the castle, where he no longer has classes; not here, in this world, where he no longer has a life.

As if on cue, the door swings wide, and Dumbledore enters, carrying with him an almost overpowering stench of decay. Wordlessly, he walks as though every step is costing him to the tall desk at the back of the room and sits – no, slumps – heavily down in the high-backed chair. Cedric is shocked. The Head of Hogwarts has always seemed indestructible, a pillar of strength ready and able to defeat whatever threat may face the school and its students. But here, in the darkness of the office, in the privacy of his inner sanctum, Cedric cannot believe how human Dumbledore seems. Never before has he looked truly old, but the way his lined face now sinks into his gnarled hands makes Cedric wonder just how long Dumbledore has been here, protecting Hogwarts and her students from threats they may not even realize are there.

"Longer than you can imagine, although it's only half as long as I've had on this benighted, wonderful planet," Dumbledore says unexpectedly. "I know you're there, Mister Diggory. If you desire to talk with me, please do so now, before my patience with these silly games comes to an end."

Cedric doesn't bother to ask why, or how. He just steps forward, toward the desk. Dumbledore straightens perceptibly; where before, he was a bowed, almost defeated old man, he now becomes again the wizard whom Cedric knows and respects, although a good deal wearier.

Dumbledore sighs, and waves a hand. Around the office, torches flicker to life. A blaze springs up from the embers in the fireplace, its crackling rivaling the snores of the portraits lining the walls. Vague shapes resolve themselves, menacing shadows retreat, and the office is again full of the reassuring warmth Cedric remembers. For a moment, Cedric is speechless with jealousy and loss. When he finds his voice again, everything he'd intended to tell the Headmaster, all of his carefully rehearsed explanations, evaporate into irrelevancy. "You knew."

Dumbledore smiles sadly. "I suspected. The Killing Curse does not usually obliterate its victim's body. And when you did not return, I was forced to assume that you couldn't. Likely because you were dead, but there was always the slim chance."

_he'd wanted to share that faint hope with the Diggorys, toss Amos a lifeline – but he hadn't. The look on Demeter's face – he never wanted to see it again, and if he told them that Cedric might still be alive, and then the opposite proved to be true – _

_Of course, now that the Dark Lord had returned, Demeter would not be the only mother left without her child, her face not the only picture of utter, complete grief and despair. And it was there and then that he made a promise to himself. There would be no 'defeating' this dark wizard, no imprisonment, no mercy. There would be no more despairing faces. He would not pause, would not rest, until the thing that had once been a man named Tom Riddle was destroyed. _

"I would advise you to cease attempting to probe my mind," Dumbledore says conversationally, as Cedric pinches the bridge of his nose and winces at the sudden stabbing pains shooting through his sinuses. "You may have an immense amount of raw talent, but I've had much more practice at keeping you out than you have at getting in, and it will only end in headaches for both of us. Not to mention that you might not like some of what you find among those memories."

Cedric nods, and his head throbs. "I'm…sorry," he manages. "It's… I seem to do it without really noticing, sir."

"Hmm." Dumbledore stands, with a swish of his robes, and the smell of decay hits Cedric again. "If I'm not mistaken, this may have contributed to your timely departure. Based on Mr. Potter's account, I've been trying to puzzle out how you might have disappeared. If you had not anticipated the curse, it was highly unlikely that you would have had any time to even consider escaping, let alone Apparate away. Harry has said that Lord Voldemort -" Cedric can't suppress a flinch; he isn't used to hearing that name being spoken aloud – "gave instructions to his servant to kill you, and that the curse followed almost instantaneously. According to him, there wasn't time to move, to think, just a flash and you had disappeared. But this may provide the final piece of the puzzle."

"You think _I_ read…You-Know-Who's mind?" Cedric can't keep a note of disbelief from his voice.

"He has worked very hard to become as accomplished a Legilimens as he is, but this doesn't mean he's invulnerable. Weakened as he was, and with his mind so completely on the task at hand…and if you were even a fraction as powerful then as you are now…well, perhaps you can enlighten me as to what, exactly, happened?" Dumbledore clears his throat, reaches into a pocket and pulls out a small tin. "Lemon drop?" he asks, even as he pops one of the proffered sweets into his own mouth. The sickly-sweet scent of them mingled with the decay clinging to the Headmaster makes Cedric want to retch. He settles for politely declining.

Dumbledore looks mildly surprised. "They're one of my favourites," he says mildly, before tucking the tin away in his flowing robes. "So. I'm very curious. What kept you from returning for a full year? And why, flattering though it may be, have you come here instead of going to your parents?"

"I -" Cedric finds that, despite the thousands of times he's run through this very scenario in his mind, he's unsure of where or how to start. "You may be the only person I know in the wizarding world who would understand my…predicament." He takes a deep breath, more out of habit than need. "I don't remember much of what actually happened in the graveyard…"

_just the_ _fear, almost overpowering, thick as the fog swirling around his ankles, and the strong sense of unease, growing by the second, something wasn't right and he was glad Harry'd made him take the Cup as well, he wouldn't want to be here alone and it's then that he remembers Harry and if Harry thinks this is part of the task Harry could be in very serious danger and_

"_Wands out, d'you reckon?"_

_and a high, cold voice, a voice he would very much like to never hear again, a voice that seemed to lance through Cedric and leave him exposed and pinned like a butterfly on corkboard, a voice that would kill merely because you were in its way, a voice that Cedric would have given anything to just get away from and that seemed to burrow right into his very thoughts_

"If I Apparated, I don't remember doing it, though I must have, I guess. I wasn't thinking about it, though, because I didn't decide to do it or where I wanted to go. I just wanted to get away." Cedric pauses, and Dumbledore motions for him to continue. "When I regained consciousness, I was in another country. On another continent. I don't think I've ever done a spell quite so powerful."

Dumbledore nods assent. "It was quite impressive, and powerful enough that a few of my friends were able to trace the residual magic all the way to the Olympic Peninsula. In North America. They found you had emerged a few miles from a small town with a most unusual name. However, the trail went cold there. We were forced to assume the worst." His blue eyes seem to bore into Cedric.

"Your…friends…went into Forks to look for me?" And this, right here, is the hard part. Cedric would rather avoid it, if it had been at all possible, but instead he grits his teeth and plunges forward. "Did they, by any chance, mention meeting a family of vampires?"

There's no sign of surprise from Dumbledore, and some sixth sense prods Cedric. _He knew. The lemon drops were a test. _Nothing _gets past the Headmaster._

"I had considered the possibility," Dumbledore finally admits, turning his back to Cedric to stare into the flames. "But I had hoped to be proven wrong."

The fire hisses and pops in the grate. One of the portraits snuffles loudly and turns over in his sleep.

"There was a time when you would have been dismembered, burnt, and your ashes scattered over a river," Dumbledore says, finally turning to face Cedric again. "Nowadays, the Ministry will merely require you to register yourself, and to follow a certain set of guidelines…" And there's definitely a twinkle of mischief in the Headmaster's eye as he adds, "Although by the time you've been worked through the system, you might wish they'd been merciful and just burnt you."

Cedric can't help but smile. His father's complained about the bureaucratic machinations of the Ministry of Magic often enough. But his tone is serious when he says, 'I don't intend to register."

"Then why, may I ask, do you need my help?"

Cedric nervously fiddles with the bottom button of his charcoal-grey peacoat. It's just for show – the cold doesn't bother him, not anymore – but he's come to like it. Especially at times like this, when it gives him something to turn over and over mindlessly when he doesn't want to think about what he's going to have to say. It's a miracle his voice doesn't catch when he answers, "I need to die."

The look on Dumbledore's face leaves Cedric with no doubt that this is the only man the Dark Lord has ever fears. "If you've come here to ask for me to destroy you -"

"No." Cedric shoves both hands into his pockets. "I think you've misunderstood me. I can't go back to my life. Not like it was before. And for my parents to know I'm…alive…but to be unable to have their son back would be far worse than to give them false hope and then dash it. I just – I just want them to be able to live again. _I _want to be able to live again." He takes another breath, remembers to blink. "And for that to happen, Cedric Diggory has to die."

Nothing moves but the fire.

From his pocket, Cedric takes the thing that's been practically a part of him for six long years, six long, agonizing, wonderful years. His wand clicks quietly as he sets it down on the Headmaster's desk.

"You're the only person I could have told this to," Cedric mutters, glad that there's no physical way he could be blushing at the awkwardness of this situation. "You're the only one I could trust to do this for me. Please -"

_well, it worked for Peter Pettigrew_

"I did advise you not to do that," Dumbledore says as Cedric clutches his temples. "So. The death of Cedric Diggory is officially confirmed?"

Cedric nods.

"It will be a great relief to his parents to finally have an answer after over a year of wondering. It's a pity that the remains could not be found, but his wand will be returned to his parents when they are informed of the death." Dumbledore sits back down, lending a sort of finality to his words. "And rest assured that I will deliver the news myself."

Cedric breathes out. "Thank you." _Oh, Merlin, thank you. Thank you._

"Hrm." Dumbledore toys with his wand, idly, causing a small shower of blue sparks. "How did you get into the castle?"

"The gates were still open. There were a few students who were late getting off the train. And I'm very fast. No one saw me come here."

"And perhaps it would be better if no one saw you leave." The Headmaster stands again. "Would I be correct in assuming you no longer have any magical ability?"

It stings, even though Cedric was half-expecting it. "Just the Legilimency, sir."

"Then I will ask you to take my arm. I should still be able to take you with me through Side-Along Apparation -" Cedric realizes the face he must be making when Dumbledore says, softly, "You would have passed your test on the first try. It's truly a pity that you didn't have a chance to take it. Braggart though he is, your father was at least correct – you were an exceptional wizard."

Cedric turns the full force of his glower on his feet. He doesn't need to be reminded.

"But not, I suspect, quite so exceptional as the _person_ you were – and still are, if I'm any judge."

Cedric looks up, surprised. "Sir – I _ran away_. I left Harry Potter -"

"And if you plan to define yourself by that one event, I can assure you that your new life will be a miserable one." Rather than thunderous, Dumbledore seems…saddened. "You are not a coward. If you fail to see that, you will be wasting so much potential, so many opportunities."

"I gave up. Just when it mattered most, I -" Cedric stops when he sees the look the Headmaster is giving him. "I just don't know if I can trust myself," he mumbles lamely to his feet.

"Oh, I don't know. If not, then who can you trust?" Dumbledore smiles crookedly as he offers Cedric his arm. Just before he feels the all-too-familiar sensation of being jammed down a very small tube, Cedric is sure he hears Dumbledore say, "However, you are going to have to call yourself something other than Cedric Diggory."

Cedric has to admit that he hadn't actually considered that. But it's all right. He'll think of something.

After all, he does have forever.

* * *

AN: Yes, yes, Hermione, stop hitting me with _Hogwarts: A History_. I _know_. But the movieverse! The movieverse!

So I hope you guys have enjoyed reading this because I have actually enjoyed writing it. Possibly a little overmuch. If sparkly drabblings pop up on my account hereafter do not be surprised.

And yes, that is the ending. Lame? I'm not sure anymore, I've been staring at it for too long. Epilogue? Maybe. Stay tuned? Only if you feel like it.

Thank you guys, though. I do appreciate that you put the time and effort into finishing this with me. I'm gonna miss your comments like you don't even KNOW. I hope you liked it, and that you're not going to go crash your motorbikes and jump off cliffs just in case it'll coerce me to write more (and yes, yes, I know, lame bad joke, but I already made a Potter one so I figured I'd make it even).

I'm signing off now because if I don't I'll make more terrible jokes. Liz ouuuuuut.


	10. Epilogue

School is every bit as trying as he thought it would be.

The subjects are all strange, unfamiliar, with arcane names (and just what the hell _is_ 'AP Physics', anyway?); the maths in the physics class are all but incomprehensible to someone who's only learned how to add, subtract, multiply and divide from his parents, and has never heard of algebra outside of a Muggle Studies classroom. The history is all _American_ history, although knowing people who were therefor most of it helps ease the pain. The classes, though fascinating, are all incredibly difficult for someone without the background knowledge instilled by years of public school.

He's cut some slack for being moody and antisocial, though, given that the cover story the entire town's been fed is that he's the newest foster child in Dr. and Mrs. Cullen's little family, fresh out of a string of failed placements. The general consensus, as relayed by the secretary in the office when he goes to pick up his timetable, is that if anyone can draw angsty little Edward out of his shell, it's Carlisle Cullen, he really works wonders with those poor troubled children, that man is a saint, and so good-looking too, if only he weren't married. It's here that Ce- _Edward_ has to excuse himself to go laugh hysterically in the boys' room.

It doesn't help that occasionally, as above, he forgets that when someone says 'Edward' they mean him. He almost wishes he didn't know where the name came from

_I had a son named Edward, once_

but if Esme hadn't wanted him to know, she wouldn't have told him. It has the feeling of an old wound, long since scarred over. And he's touched and honoured to learn that she considers him her son.

Truthfully, he's a little surprised by how _connected_ he feels to his new adopted family, and how deeply they seem to care about him in return. He's incredibly grateful to have their support, because trying to pick up a life is hard enough. He couldn't imagine doing this alone.

If only there weren't so many _people_. Even the intensive shopping trips that Alice dragged him along on, picking out a whole wardrobe in three days, haven't prepared him for this. The first time he sets foot on school grounds he almost turns and runs. Too many voices, too many thoughts, too many warm, breathing, _living_ human bodies, too many sheep and his sheep's clothing doesn't seem enough to hide his sharp, sharp teeth. He can't seem to draw his mind from contemplation of how easy it would be to kill everyone in sight. And the constant clamour of thoughts cause his head to pound.

_did you see what that slut was wearing if she goes after my boyfriend this year I'm gonna_

_fail bio this term I just know it_

_won't work she'll never look my way not even once_

_eww tuna surprise again bet it's left over from last year hey that's funny I should tell someone_

_got so totally fat over the summer_

_who's the new kid_

_damn fine ass wonder if he knows how good he looks in those jeans_

_do the Cullens only adopt, like, the unbelievably gorgeous or what_

_so dark and troubled could heal that hardened heart_

_what the hell's so special about him just another gloomy bastard_

Everyone seems to be overwhelmingly curious about the good-looking mysterious stranger suddenly deposited in their midst, and through the course of the day, pretty much every girl attending Forks High School has tried to work out who Edward Cullen will end up dating, and every guy has decided that they don't like him because it will probably be their girlfriend. The scrutiny is unbelievable, and for a few fleeting seconds, Edward wonders if this is how Harry Potter feels _all the time_, before stuffing the thought to the back of his mind.

Somehow, he manages to make it through the day, with the constant if often unspoken support of Alice, Emmett, Jasper and (he has to admit to being a little surprised) Rosalie. _But don't expect to be babied like this forever,_ she always adds, to which Edward just smiles.

By the time the final bell rings, he's a bundle of nerves, not hearing anything teachers or students say out loud or otherwise over his constant mental litany of _Breathe. Blink. Don't kill anyone._ He hopes he doesn't actually blur as he rushes for the door, but doesn't bother to slow down. It's only once the Jeep is out of the town limits that he manages to relax. That night, as he sinks teeth deep into the tawny fur of the mountain lion that even now struggles ineffectually against him, claws shrieking against marble-like flesh, he can't help imagining that it's Lauren Mallory's neck he snaps, never having to listen to another of her vain, self-absorbed, petty thoughts ever again. The idea is a little too tempting.

The second day is harder.

The third day is easier.

The fourth day, as well.

A year flies by.

Slowly, he fades from the foreground of the collective consciousness, becoming just another fixture of the school, like the windows or the football team or any other student. It's…liberating. He can stop watching himself like a hawk, always worrying that his latest weirdness will be noticed, will become the subject of potentially disastrous gossip, and can relax a little. Unfortunately, it's a little late to start making friends. Cedric Diggory would have at least spoken to over half the school by now, but, as the odious Lauren so aptly puts it, Edward Cullen has a note excusing him from social interaction.

March tiptoes in like a lamb, whispering a promise of spring through the constant rain. The school is abuzz – the imminent arrival of another new student has taken the mental space that everyone seems to have forgotten was, only a little over a year ago, devoted to Edward Cullen. He admits to being intrigued, since usually new students wouldn't choose mid-March to start a new school, but having not lived in Forks for seventeen years, the phrase "Chief Swan's daughter" means nothing to him. It's unlikely that she'll have anything new to offer, but the enthusiasm of the rest of the student body is infectious.

He doesn't see her arrive on her first day, but she's definitely made an impression. Doing a quick scan of the cafeteria, he discovers that for once, Jessica Stanley's thinking about someone other than Mike Newton, and Lauren Mallory is seethingly jealous. 'Intrigued' becomes full-blown curiousity, and he listens for the new girl's thoughts on Forks High so far, hoping for more than the usual nonsense but expecting not much better than Lauren. What he isn't expecting, however, is what meets his casual brush.

Nothing.

It's never happened before. Even Dumbledore couldn't block Ce- _Edward_ out completely. But this fairly unassuming teenage girl, with her cascades of dark hair and unfathomable expression, lets nothing slip. He can't get a read on her, can't figure her out, and it's the most indescribable feeling of being shaken to the core. Of standing on the threshold of something momentous. It's the Sorting Hat sitting on his head and drawing breath to shout out a house name. It's watching Dumbledore read the name on the slip of paper that flew from the mouth of the Goblet of Fire.

It's the first time Cho smiled at him.

It's only when Rosalie mutters, "Stalker" at a volume only the Cullens could hear that Edward realizes he's staring.

* * *

She's in his biology class. The moment she walks in, all eyes are on her, all thoughts turn toward her. _Bella_. The name whispers across forty-some minds before skittering back into the ether.

_that's Bella who's Bella Chief Swan's daughter damn pretty Phoenix new Bella Bella Bella_

_Bella_. Beautiful.

For a fleeting second, her eyes meet his from across the room, and he could swear she smiles, expectantly, almost excitedly. She steps forward, in front of the fan, toward him.

And in an instant, everything changes.

Again.

* * *

AN: So, this was very nearly a parody of the Potter epilogue, with Renesmee and Albus Severus bonding over shitty tribute naming. Unfortunately, I didn't have any ideas for it that were actually funny, and so that idea was scrapped.

Sadly, this is likely it for the run of 'Northern Lights', since I have no desire to rehash 'Midnight Sun' (which, of course, is in and of itself a rehash anyway) and throw in the occasional Quidditch metaphor. I'd like to thank you guys for sticking around, though. It's been a lot of fun, and I hope you've enjoyed it too.


End file.
